


Sweet Home Alabama

by Writeonthrough (Schroederplayspiano)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Alternate Universe - Sweet Home Alabama Fusion, F/M, Romantic Comedy, Sweet Home Alabama, TFSN Rom Com Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7966435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schroederplayspiano/pseuds/Writeonthrough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dr. Jemma Simmons get engaged to her co-worker Milton Hennings, she is forced to confront the past she’s been avoiding for the last ten years. A past that includes Leo Fitz, her current husband, childhood sweethearts and once-thought-to-be soulmate. Their reunion will bring back old feelings and tensions–not to mention a psychically-linked connection that neither have felt since the last time they saw each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lightning Strikes Twice

_“Jemma…” Fitz’s ten year old self penetrated its way through her distracted mind and called her back to him. “We’ve got to get home. My Mom’s gonna kill me!” Thunder roared over the Alabama beach, engrossing the young Fitz and liberating him of his previous worries. “Wow! Did you see that?”_

_“One-thousand-one,” Jemma sped ahead of him, her small feet making deep imprints in the sand. “One-thousand-two.”_

_His heart raced trying to keep up with her as she ran down the beach. With every second that passed, Jemma moved further and further away from him._

_“One-thousand-three.”_

_The more the distance between them increased, the more anxious the young Fitz grew. “Answer the question!”_

_“No!”_

_“No, you won’t answer?” Fitz put whatever force he had left in him into his legs to close the distance between them. “Or—No, you won’t marry me?”_

_“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma managed to say in between short breaths. “I’m ten years old. I’ve got too much to live for!”_

_By the time Fitz caught up with her, a mere glimpse of her incredulous expression had to be enough to tide over his anxieties before lighting struck the ground three feet from them causing both to scream out in unison._

_Jemma’s scream bolted her in the opposite direction. Once Fitz had recovered from the lightning strike himself, he grabbed her shirt-sleeve and tugged her back to him. “Not that way, you don’t!” he insisted, interlacing their fingers and pulling her back to the burning sand where the lightning had hit._

_Fitz and Jemma crouched down to examine the burning hole in the ground. For some reason, it called out to them, almost like a spell binding them together._

_As if entranced, Jemma reached out to the hot sand. “Wow,” wonderment took over her expression. “Fascinating.”_

_Fitz’s hand immediately returned to hers, pulling it away from the glassy hole in the ground. “It’s hot! Don’t touch it!” Jemma detangled their fingers as soon as she could. “We’ll be safe here.”_

_There was no mistaking Jemma’s incredulous expression now. Fitz stood while she looked up at him. “Says who?”_

_He shrugged, “Everybody.” Thunder continued to roar above them. Its sound cast the same spell on him that the glassy hole in the sand had moments before, his blue eyes captivated by the rolling clouds above him._

_It was impossible to not to notice the effect the thunder had on him. His awe even gave the nonstop Jemma pause, realizing for the first time she’d never seen him enthralled with anything else in whole ten years’ time she’d been beside him._

_“Lightning never strikes the same place twice,” he said it with such confidence, she noticed as he stood taller and squared his shoulders._

_Fascinated with his knowledge and passion, Jemma slowly rose to meet his height. Placing her hands on her hips, she asked, “Why would you want to marry me, anyhow?”_

_Fitz turned from the sky to Jemma. Somehow the same enthralled expression was held on his face when he looked at her. He smirked to reassure her he had as much fascination with the thunderous sky as he did with her. “So I can kiss you anytime I want.”_

_Her eyes grew to saucers at his bold declaration. For someone who had never given kissing much thought before, an overwhelming desire took over her to share her first kiss with the boy beside her._

_As if reading her mind, Fitz had already begun leaning in. When she turned further towards him and their gazes caught, Fitz hesitated for one moment before closing the distance between them. A spark ignited deep within her as their lips came together for the first time. She soon realized the fire she felt must be the same fire he felt when he looked up at the crackling sky or…at her._

_The sky cracked again. The sound seemed closer now…as if right above them. She couldn’t help peering up mid-kiss to watch the lightning strike over her and down to the exact spot they were standing in…_

An obnoxious answering machine beep awoke Jemma from her dream. She registered the rain pattering against her New York apartment windows and the thunder accompanying it before attuning her brain to the voice on the machine.

“Uh, Good morning.” Milton’s words scrambled through her brain as she processed her surroundings. “There’s a rose for every moment I thought of you last night. Ah, you must be exhausted. Uh, I hope I didn’t wake you—uh, either in shuffling the roses in last night or with my message now.” Jemma pulled herself up from her bed, noticing her hospital scrubs still clung to her skin. She blinked in the flower petal colors that took over every inch of her small apartment. “Anyway, I’m so proud of you." His voice sped up, as if comfortable from reading a script. "I’ll see you at the awards ceremony tonight. It’s going to be great! Knock ‘em dead. I can’t wait to see you. Bye-bye!”

“Milton!” Jemma squirmed in her excitement, both at his reminder of her big award ceremony tonight and at his classic romantic gesture. In her squirming she managed to kick off the one blanket she had managed to pull over herself during her zombie-like walk to her bed after coming home from the graveyard shift at the hospital.

She watched the blanket fall from the bed with envy. She’d give anything to curl up in a ball, sink to floor, and return to whatever pleasant dream she was having.

Dream. Thunder.

Bolting from the bed, her gaze snapped the the raindrops on a window. The young face of Leo Fitz filled her vision before the adult one took over her thoughts. She walked to a window that looked out on Manhattan’s dreary day, picked a single rose from multitude of vases, and smelled it as she rested upon the window sill.

Surely the rose’s sweet perfume and the man who had filled her apartment with them would be a more welcomed reality than the dreamlike memory she was reliving…

It had to be…right?

* * *

“Milton!” Jemma’s particular exclamation for his name whenever his actions took her by surprise burst from her. According to Milton, no one else in the universe pronounced his name better. Currently standing in the middle of New York’s empty Tiffany store, Jemma couldn’t think of a more appropriate time for her special exclamation. “…What do you think you are doing?”

He answered her question with hand squeeze before bending down on one knee. “Dr. Jemma Smooter, will you marry me?”

For the second time today, Fitz’s face appeared in Jemma's mind. She had done her best to bury the image deep within the folds of her mind, making it through a second nap, another hospital shift, and an awards ceremony successfully without thinking of her morning’s dream once. Now, however, as she drank in the sight of Milton on one knee before her, she couldn’t help replaying the first marriage proposal she’d ever received all those years ago, down on a stormy beach.

“A-are you sure?” The words rolled from Jemma’s tongue, her mind reeling. “It’s only been five months, Milton.”

“Jemma—Jemma.” Milton stood and glanced around the Tiffany store, shifting his weight between two feet. “Of course I’m sure. These last five months…Uh, you’ve been a role model—made me believe I could finish my internship at the hospital. I’m a better doctor because of you and a better person. You made me believe in myself and the power of love and in the future. And with you receiving the Pearl Hurwitz Humanism in Healthcare Award tonight, I knew tonight would be perfect. So, uh…at the risk at being rejected twice,” Milton took a deep breath and bent down on one knee again. “Will you marry me?”

Recent memories flooded Jemma's senses; the loud clapping as her name was called for the humanism award, Milton’s warm lips giving her a congratulatory kiss, his smile of encouragement when stage fright caused her stumble her words. “Yes!” She nodded at him and he lifted her up to spin her in celebration. “Yes, yes, yes!”

* * *

Alabama’s humidity greeted Jemma the moment she walked off the plane. It now filled her car, making its leather seats stick to her skin. While most people disliked the South’s humidity, Jemma welcomed it. Nothing reminded her more of home than the warm, sticky blanket that humidity brought…well, nothing except for him…

The rented car rolled over loose dirt as she turned into Fitz’s property. Old tires still rested against tree trunks and the flying contraption they had built as teenagers leaned against a rusted boat they had once taken for a ride in the middle of the night, searching for the best view of a meteor shower. She scowled at the otherwise broken down state of things in the time passed; window shutters hanging lopsided off hinges, wheelbarrows turned upside down, unkempt plants latching onto chairs that hadn’t been sat in for years…

If Jemma had any remaining doubts about her decision, the mess that greeted her when she stepped out of the car cleared them all up.

A monkey’s screeching clamored in her ears and she winced at the noise. By the time her eyes widened again, the monkey had walked down the two steps from Fitz’s porch to greet her.

The monkey tugged twice on her skirt, giving him a chance to smell her legs, before offering his hand as a ‘hello.’ After she took it, he resumed his screeching.

“Oh, he’s loud,” Fitz’s familiar voice redirected her attention. “But he won’t bite. He’s a good little monkey.” The animal tilted his head in a quizzical motion towards Fitz, and he mirrored his pet’s actions. “Aren’t you, Henry?”

The monkey sprinted back up to him, climbing up his legs until he found his usual spot on Fitz’s shoulder. “Now,” Fitz readjusted his position. “How can I help you?”

Jemma shook her head at the scene before her. Somewhere deep inside of her, the sight of Fitz with a monkey gave her great joy…but all she could focus on at present was the changeless state of the house and man in front of her.

“Well, for starters,” Jemma surprised even herself with the amount of attitude that accompanied her words. Finding confidence in her audacity, she took off her sunglasses. “You can get you stubborn ass down here and give me a divorce.”

It was then that their eyes met. His piercing blue met her soft brown and her attitude evaporated. Fitz dropped his shoulders and gaped at her, causing Henry to scurry off in the opposite direction.

Jemma breath caught at the intensity of his stare. She had forgotten, although she couldn’t imagine how, the spell his blue eyes cast. As if involuntarily drawn to them, Jemma took a single step closer towards him.

No, she stopped herself, her flat palms finding the back of the car to rest on. She came here for a reason, and one reason only. “Ugh, Fitz! It’s been ten years. We can’t waste any more time. Let’s finish this.”

“Really?” His gaze lost its magic when he narrowed his eyes at her. He scoffed in disbelief and began to make his way down the porch stairs. “And where do you get off? You show up here after ten years without so much as a text message or flare in the sky—”

Jemma mirrored his narrowed eyes. “You expect a flare in the sky every time we announce our presence to one another? Is that what happened each time you sent the papers back? There wasn’t enough of a grand gesture attached to them?”

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” Fitz spurred back. “I've grown out of my grand gestures phase. It’s easier for you to blame them than admit I’ve changed.”

Jemma scoffed, “You were hoping I’d noticed you’ve changed?” She threw her hands in the air. “Nothing has changed around here from that old rusted boat to the dirt on your shirt!”

There was fire in his eyes by the time Jemma paused to look at them. Both chests heaving from the argument, they took a single moment to recover. In the momentary calm, they scanned each other, noticing the changes ten years had brought to the other.

Fitz broke first. Leaning his weight back on the foot furthest from her, he shook his head and then turned his back to walk away.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” with his back still facing her, he threw his arm in the air. “You’ve done it! You should recognize the gesture!”

Jemma noticed the familiar wiggle of his butt cheeks as he walked away; another thing she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten over the years. Wincing, she shook her head, forcing the thought from her mind. “Fitz!” She clamped her fists together and then trotted up the stairs after him. “Can we try to keep this as mature as possible? We’re not sixteen anymore!”

“Not sixteen anymore?” He spun back to meet her. “Honey, everything about your appearance out of the blue proves that we are, indeed, still sixteen—”

“Don’t you honey me, honey!” She raised a pointed finger at him.

“—Why don’t you rediscover what home is and then maybe we’ll talk!”

Fitz then took two final steps over his threshold and slammed the screen door in her face. She winced at the noise and clamped further down on her fists.

“Fitz! I came down here for the sole purpose of signing these papers together. What more of a grand gesture do you want?”

“I just said I’m done with grand gestures!” He defended himself through the screen, “And if you think your coming all the way down here was the grand gesture I wanted to sign your damn papers, I assure you—you’re gravely mistaken!” He yelled the end of his sentence, giving himself enough momentum to slam the door in her face.

He heard another, more impassioned, “Ugh, Fitz!” from outside once space was put between them and he had his house to himself. Not knowing what to do first with his new freedom, he glanced around the house until a beer called to him from within the fridge. He strutted over, yanked the fridge door open, twisted open the beer lid, and begun to nurse the beer—letting its refreshing taste take over his senses.

Monkey chattering soon disrupted Fitz’s peace. He glanced over to see Henry on all fours scampering to his favorite spot on the couch.

“What the…hell?”

“Hey, Genius!” Jemma’s perky voice answered what was meant to be a rhetorical question. “Next time you want to lock somebody out…make sure they don’t know where the hide-a-key is.”

Smirking, Fitz turned to her and placed his thumb in his pocket. “Well, see, that’s the thing about hide-a-keys. It’d be great if your wife told you where it was,” he retorted.

“I’m not your wife, Fitz. I’m just…” her hand absent-mindedly went to her forehead in thought. “I’m just the only girl who was entertained with your science experiments.” Fitz crossed his arms at her. She reached for the divorce papers in her purse. “I don’t know that girl anymore.”

“Well, then,” other than a brief glance down to the papers, he did nothing to acknowledge their existence. “Allow me to remind you.”


	2. Blast from the Past

“Well, then.” Other than a brief glance down to the divorce papers, Fitz did nothing to acknowledge their existence. “Allow me to remind you.”

Jemma scoffed at his audacious remark, making sure to keep her extended arm rigid. “And how are you planning to do that?”

“Stay,” he challenged her, leaning closer and wiggling his eyebrows, teasing her. “And find out.”

A smile threatened to show on her face. His momentary charm had caught her off guard. He too, seemed transfixed in the moment, lingering on her face until her smile decided to show itself or not. When she caught herself and bite her lip, he stepped back and the sparkle faded from his eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t going to leave until you signed the papers anyway.”

“Great!” Fitz retorted, half sarcastically. “I didn’t think you would.”

Turning his back to her, he grabbed the phone on the kitchen table behind him, called, “Come on, Henry!” to which the monkey scurried to his side and proceed to lock himself in the laundry room.

Jemma crossed her arms, watching the scene unfold before her, unimpressed. Once the door slammed, she raised her voiced through it. “Are you planning another romantic grand gesture for me?” She took a single step closer towards the door, surprised that her heart fluttered with anticipation. “Because that’s not going to work!”

“You keep on dreamin’, honey!” Fitz echoed her tone through the door.

She opened her mouth with a retort, but it soon died on her lips. She took another step forward, and then two steps back, knocking into the back of the couch as she did so. Tripping over her feet, she reached back to the couch for support, trapped between confusion at Fitz’s behavior, figuring out her next move, and recovering from what a fine specimen of a man he’d grown into.

Before long, Fitz stepped out from the laundry room. The pride in his step was hard to miss as he tossed the phone back on the kitchen table.

“You’re some sort of doctor, right?”

Her shoulders sagged at the question. A question which she no doubt he knew the answer. “I’m a surgeon, Fitz.”

“Ah, of course,” he responded absent-mindedly. “You ever save someone from a police confrontation?”

As if on cue, police car lights spun around the house and lighted it with obnoxious shades of blue and red.

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma rolled her eyes. “Seriously? You called the sheriff? You know that old bastard hates me!” Jumping from the couch, she searched desperately for a place to hide, but soon realized the house had no good secret hiding spots.

“Jem?”

Suddenly, she halted in her scurry. At the sound of his voice, childhood memories rushed through deep creases in her mind. Excitement bubbled to the surface.

She turned around, “Hunter?”

Lance Hunter took large steps towards her, scanning her new appearance, “Hot damn, girl! Look at you!”

Jemma leapt into his arms and he twirled her around. “I can’t believe you're the sheriff!”

Still twirling her around, he responded, “Yeah, well I had to do something with my quick instincts.” He stilled to look at her. “We’ve missed you around here!”

“Hunter,” Fitz interrupted the reunion. “Can we try to keep our focus here? We have a crime scene here.”

Hunter released Jemma and put a disapproving face on. “Jemma, you can’t go breaking into people’s houses.”

“I didn’t break in, Hunter.” She scrabbled around the couch to the coffee table. “I used a key. My key.”

Hunter glanced between Fitz and Jemma. Buzzed with excitement at seeing his two childhood friends (two people he knew were perfect for each other) back together, he had trouble maintaining his professional disposition. “It still ain’t your house, darling, I’m going to have to escort you out.”

The tone in his voice and the expression on his face conveyed that separating Jemma from Fitz was really the last thing he wanted to do. While she appreciated the sentiment, Fitz let out a groan.

“Anytime now would be fine, Hunter,” he interjected.

“Hunter,” Jemma directed attention back to her. “If you have him sign these papers, I’d be more than happy for your escort out of town.”

“What?” Hunter reached for the papers she pointed out.

“Now wait—” Fitz unstuck himself from leaning against a door molding. “That’s none of your business.”

Jemma stepped between the two men and challenged Fitz. “I don’t understand, Fitz. This is so unlike you—”

“Why?” He snapped back. “Because I’m not giving you exactly what you want?

“No,” she swallowed, taken aback. “Calling the sheriff, over dramatizing a situation. Come on,” she tried to lock eyes with him, but couldn’t. “This isn’t you.”

He narrowed her eyes at her. “Unlike when you gave up on me—”

“I did no such thing!”

“Guys!” Hunter called out, shutting them both up. “It sounds like you two must have a lot to talk about and I would never want to get in the way of that. Besides,” he shot Fitz an apologetic glance. “If you guys are still married, this is her house too. I can’t lawfully do anything about it.”

While a smug smile found its way onto Jemma’s face, Fitz gaped at his friend. “Come on man, you owe me one!”

“Why won’t you just sign the damn papers?” She spoke over him.

Hunter offered a sympathetic smile to Fitz. “The law’s the law, Fitz and she hasn’t done anything wrong—”

Something about Hunter’s comment spurred Fitz into action. “Hasn’t done anything wrong? Oh-ho, I suppose going undercover and blowing up the auditorium to sabotage Ward’s ninth grade science project is perfectly acceptable.”

Jemma pinched back her face in disbelief. “The whole school was going to blow up if I didn’t, not just the auditorium. And I did that only after he ruined your project—injuring you in the process—to show us the functionally of his own project!”

Hunter shrugged and smiled, making his way towards the door.

“What about the time she ran away from home—stealing mine and all of our friends’ money—and told no one where she was for six whole days, letting everyone—including her parents think she was dead.”

“I didn’t run away! I didn’t have a choice—Will Daniels dared me to do it. Besides, I left a note, it just took you guys six days to find it.” She spoke so fast she need to pause to take a deep breath. “And I totally paid everybody back!”

While Hunter did stop to listen to their bickering, he rushed to the door as soon as she finished.

“Hunter—wait—” Fitz reached out towards him. “Isn’t there an outstanding warrant for the person who stole your dad’s boat? The one that was found totally wrecked on the other side of the lake?”

The audacity of Fitz’s accusation, the suggestion that she stole the boat without him (well, technically, she did) for their most romantic night together of boating under the stars, left Jemma unable to defend herself.

* * *

She was held for five hours before allowed to call home. Jemma did what she could to occupy herself in the tiny, empty jail cell; solving her favorite mental equations, recalling her favorite cases at the hospital, and reliving her favorite memories with Milton, but nothing worked. No matter how hard she tried to focus on other things, her mind kept returning to Fitz. Unlike the times it dragged up his face in years past, tonight it reeled on their fresh memories.

For a couple who were once so close--people around them even said they were psychically-linked--his behavior shocked her. Worse, she couldn’t make sense of it. Understanding Fitz better than anyone in the world used to give her great pride, in fact it still did. Some part of her broke when she realized she didn’t have the skill anymore…Perhaps, she lost it a long time ago and never realized it.

If she had realized it, perhaps she wouldn’t have assumed they were on the same page regarding their relationship and divorce. Perhaps their plan to become separate people after being _inseparable_ their entire lives had a different effect on her than it did on him…because he sure seemed different.

And yet, underneath the arguments and accusations, Jemma still felt connection to him when she looked into his eyes. She couldn’t explain it. It was like she knew—despite whatever accusations they threw at each other, that they would always say more to each other in the words they didn’t say than in the words they did.

And she would be proven right the next day when she stopped by the bank and learned Fitz had kept her name on the bank account they opened together after they married…

If he'd lived his life for the last ten years as if they were still married, she finally had a way, a chance, to get inside his head—and once she did that, their psychically linked abilities would be established and she would know what he needed from her to agree to a divorce.

* * *

Jemma’s home cooking wafted from the house towards the driveway as Fitz pulled into it from his long day at work. One of his favorite smells, Fitz turned off the car and let Jemma’s prosciutto mozzarella dinner subdue his senses.

Still not fully recovered from the shock of her reappearance yesterday, his body welcomed the tranquility her cooking provided. For twenty-four hours, his nerves fired on overload, his heartbeat twice as fast, and his soul—his soul, which he seemed attached to for the last ten years—now ached for its mate.

 _Not that Jemma was his soulmate_ , Fitz corrected himself, though he once thought of her that way. Her reappearance back into his life just reminded his soul of its existence.

He couldn’t think any longer, he had to spring into action in order to ignore the longing he felt—longing he hadn’t experienced in years. Once he opened the door and Henry scurried out, Fitz stomped each foot to the ground and slammed the door to his truck.

The wonderful smell wasn’t the only thing that had changed since he left for work this morning. Even in the dusk of the evening, Fitz spotted colorful flowers where dead ones were, a stepping-stone path to the porch, and a _I Married My Best Friend_ wood cut-out hanging on the front door.

Walking towards the porch, Fitz examined Jemma’s improvements and realized each of them they had talked about…ten or eleven years ago, as they shared their hopes and dreams of the future late one night as they lay naked in bed.

“Hi, honey,” Jemma's sweet voice greeted him through the screen door before his hand found the handle to open it. As he did, Henry scurried past, running through the kitchen and living room before stopping by Jemma’s side. She laugh a genuine laugh at the monkey’s behavior and seemed happy when he felt comfortable beside her. She reached down to pet his head, “Hi, Henry.” She turned back to Fitz. “How was your day?”

Instead of answering her or even looking at her, Fitz scanned over the living room, secretly admiring the changes she made here too—the colors were warmer, and the couches were more comfy (Henry had already snuggled into one)—as his heart pounded in his chest.

“What the _hell_ , Jemma?” He asked his iconic question in the same overdramatic way that he used to. “Where’s all my stuff?”

She ignored his anger and stepped forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Ugh, Fitz. What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t pick up after my husband?”

Fitz raised his palm to the warmth on his cheek where her kiss still lingered and whipped it off. For a moment, as she watched him, fascination engulfed her. She forgot all about her plan and let herself be mesmerized by his cuteness.

Then, he said, “The kind that doesn’t live here.”

And the moment disappeared. Jemma turned her back to him and continued setting the table.

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” He stepped closer to her. “Where is the hide-a-key?”

But Jemma ignored him once again and returned to the kitchen to gather the next items for the table. “I hope you're hungry, Fitz. I made your favorite: prosciutto mozzarella sandwiches.”

A little sound came from the back of Fitz’s throat. “With Pesto-Aioli?”

She paused from her busy work to look up at him. Their gazes collided, making both their stomach flip when they realized they both knew her response before she said it. “Just a hint.”

Her smile deceived both of them. Fitz thought it signaled she felt their psychic connection beginning to form again. Jemma thought she smiled because her plan seemed to be working, while she actually smiled, not thanks to her plan, but because he smiled too.

“I hope you like what I did to the place, Fitz. From the smile on your face I can tell that you do.” She hoped to hint she knew he smiled from their reestablished connection rather than her home improvements, but didn’t know if she did or not. “But have you been to the Sit ’N Sleep, lately? Yuck. I guess I’ll just have to order something from New York.”

Fitz’s gaze circled the room again, admiring how much she could always get done in a day. “Whatever makes you happy, Darlin’. You go right ahead and spend your money.”

“Oh, but, Darlin,’” she didn’t know why, but she loved how he still had pet names for her. “I thought you said we should think of it as our money.”

The movement stopped. Fitz’s gazed paused on the new microscope on his desk while Jemma left her hands on the salad bowl. Their heart beats pounded in unison without seeing the other.

“Just a guess,” she said, finding a way to snap out of it. Letting go of the bowl, she turned and approached his pulsing body. “But I’m thinking the words ‘Joint Checking’ are flashing through your head right now.” She smiled smugly and he turned around in time to see it. “It seems like we didn’t lose our psychically-linked connection after all.”

“How much did you take?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“All of it,” she replied simply.

Her smile faded and she noticed the anger on his face. Words formed on his lips but were quickly lost in disbelief and confusion.

She threw her arm in air. “You want a wife. You got a wife. And what are you doing with all that cash? Why don’t you invest it? Don’t you know you were supposed to be the smart one?”

How dare she bring their competing smarts into this conversation. Words came spilled from his mouth that he didn’t mean, “I know if you don’t get out of this house—” Fitz stopped himself, realizing he couldn’t say anything, he rather listen to her criticize his money choices over his favorite meal than force her out of the house again.

“Sign the papers,” she reached into her purse for them. “And I’ll give it all back.”

“Fine!” He couldn’t help conceding to her.

“Fine!” She echoed his frustrated tone and offered him the papers and a pen. He snatched the papers, but when he reached for the pen, she pulled it back. “Hold on, what are you doing with that much cash? You aren’t doing anything illegal? Are you, Fitz?"

Fitz scoffed at the gall of her insinuation. “Maybe I am. So what? I don’t ask you about your boyfriend, you don’t judge my life, deal?”

Jemma,lost the act she was putting on, stepped back absentmindedly. Her arms dropped to her sides, “Who told you?”

“Honey,” Fitz cocked his head to the side. “You just said I was the smart one.”

Jemma eyelids drifted down in regret. She didn’t see Fitz walk to the couch, but move out of his path anyway so he could. She turned his direction, and managed to focus her gaze again. “Look, Fitz—”

“No one finds their soulmate when they’re ten years old, right?” He couldn’t hold the thoughts he had on the way home any longer. “I mean,” he looked up at her, “Where’s the fun in that?”

Their eyes met and she found herself melting into them. She leaned forward as she said, “Yeah…I guess…”

What really did her in, like it always did, was when he smiled through his eyes and they twinkled at her. Sometimes, she really did wonder if he could see through to her soul.

After a moment, he gave his attention to the divorce papers and she turned and found the glass sculpture she found in the garage hours ago and placed on the mantel. “I can’t believe you kept this all these years,” she said more to herself than to him.

“Hm-mm…”

“You know, most people don’t know that lightning does that to sand,” she commented softly.

Suddenly, the memory of their first kiss under that lightning storm appeared in his mind. Whether it was the memory or Jemma’s thoughtful comment that meant so much to him, he didn’t know. All he knew was, he couldn’t sign divorce papers while she talked about it.

So he raised his arm up to look at his watch. “You know what, Jemma?” As he spoke, he thankfully remembered the usual plans he had with his friends on Saturday night. “The Semi-Finals for Trivia Night are in half an hour and I don’t want to miss it. You know,” he tossed the pen on the coffee table. “I can’t bear letting my team down.” Rising from the couch, he walked over and pulled a jacket from the closet. “You don’t mind if I take a look at those with my lawyer, do you?”

Jemma shook her head (mostly to try to comprehend the complete shift that just happened.) “What?”

“Yeah…” He pulled the jacket over his shoulders. “I think that’s what’s best…If we do this separately…”

“Fitz,” she begged frantically. “Just sign the damn papers!”

“Nah,” he smiled at her and then kicked the screen door open. “But thanks for stopping by.”

Once he left, Jemma clenched her hands into fits. “Ugh!” Then she stomped once on the hardwood floor. “Fitz!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my take on a Fitzsimmons Version of Sweet Home Alabama! I would love to hear what you thought in the comments! Many Thanks to AmandaRex for her thoughtful edits and amazing beta-ing skills.


	3. Testing The Waters

The country music blaring from Stella’s Roadhouse seeped through Jemma’s sports car while she pulled into the parking lot. Sure enough, the sign announcing “Saturday Night Trivia” hung off its awning just like it had every Saturday night for the past seventeen years. Some of her favorite nights of her life were spent here, blowing away all her friends with her genius.

Well, her combined genius with Fitz. She had to admit they were quite the team. Once. After both their bait and switch acts today, Jemma wondered if they could ever be again.

A cell phone ring interrupted her thoughts. Milton’s name appeared on the screen (along with a goofy picture of them that always made Jemma smile), forcing her to forget her doubts about Leo Fitz and their once unbeatable partnership—at least temporarily.

“Milton!” She greeted him with an unusually high pitch. “Hi!”

“Hey babe,” Milton said with a chuckle. “I miss you.”

“Aw, I miss you too.”

Milton waited a beat before continuing. “You’ll never guess what I’m doing right now.”

Jemma got out of the car, reached for her car keys and purse before slamming the door, and leaned against it. “You’re studying for your boards and had to tell me you passed the practice test with flying colors—all, thanks to me.”

“Ha-ha.” He retorted, monotonously. “No. I’m staring at your award they just hung up in the hospital lobby—along with the article praising you. They called you the next big one.”

Jemma jaw dropped, causing the phone speaker to rest over her cheek rather than her mouth. “The next big one?”

“You’re missing all the celebration, Babe!” His words returned her jaw to its proper place. While she basked in deserved praise, she wasn’t one to gloat in front of other people. Thankfully, Milton change the subject. “What is that noise?”

“Uh,” She searched the dirt parking lot while the music sharpened in her ears again. “The sound of my past…I really should get going.”

“Okay! Have fun,” Milton’s unquestionable support had a way of making Jemma feel safe and unthreatened. “Love you.”

“Yeah—I got to go.”

She didn’t know why she hung up before she could hear whatever he said next. Instead of thinking about it—or him—she focused on the Trivia Night sign, unwavering in the South’s humidity, and entered with a determined attitude.

Not one detail had changed in the roadhouse in ten years. The pictures on the wall, the table and chairs, people’s Saturday night fashions…they were all the same. The only change tonight, at least to Jemma, was the heads that turned when she walked in with such confidence. To everyone else however, her confidence was the one quality that never changed about Jemma Simmons.

Phil Coulson sat in his usual place at the game moderator table and scanned her from head to toe. “Well, well,” he greeted her. “If it isn’t the girl who blew up my cat—”

“Saved!” She insisted over him, pushing her newly formed fists down beneath the table. “I saved your cat, Mr. Coulson. Lola was scheduled to die anyway and by attaching dynamite to her back and helping save the school from Ward’s destruction, I gave her another one of her nine lives.”

The old man ignored her. Whether it was from lack of hearing or lack of interest, she didn’t know. As if handling dynamite himself, Coulson took his time giving her a paper and pencil for the game, and ask, “So, are you with Team Shield tonight?”

Jemma looked over and saw Fitz with Hunter, Bobbi, Daisy, and Mack. They hadn’t realized her arrival yet and for some reason, she was grateful. “No. Just me.”

Disappointment at her decision was clear on Coulson’s face. “Jemma Simmons. The one woman show.”

“That’s the plan!” she gloated.

For the first time that evening, Coulson locked eyes with her. “You’re never going to win by yourself, honey.”

Before she could respond, excitement burst from Fitz’s table. Bobbi and Daisy had spotted her. They jumped up, fought their way through the crowd, and before Jemma knew it, her two oldest friends had trapped her in a hug sandwich.

“Hunter told me about your epic reunion with Fitz yesterday,” Bobbi gushed. “But that’s just pillow talk—I’m still dying for details.”

“Oh!” Jemma released herself from the awkward hug. “Are you two—you two finally—”

Bobbi raised her hand to show off her ring finger, “Married three years—”

Daisy cut in, “And each passing day when they don’t kill each other is a miracle.”

“I bet,” Jemma gave Bobbi a warm, knowing smile.

“Are you joining us? We could use another woman on our team,” Daisy gestured back to their team table.

“No, I-I just thought I’d see how fast my one brain can beat the five of yours.”

The women’s smiles faded after Jemma’s stinging retort. With each trivia question Jemma won, she issued a scorching criticism of whomever missed the question, insulting not just their intellect but their character. By the third or fourth round, Jemma's solid lead quieted Team Shield’s small taunts back to her, making her criticisms no longer fun for anyone.

Energy picked up for the last round, when Coulson announced the topic would be local history. Thanks to Jemma’s ten year absence, Team Shield convinced themselves they would win back most of the points they had lost to Jemma during the math and science rounds. After winning three questions in a row in seemed they might be right.

“Alright, alright. Next question,” Coulson settled down the crowd. “What was the day, month, year and—” he raised a pointed finger in the air, “And time that our home town Eagles won the state championship against the Serpents?”

Jemma stayed quiet during the time allotted to answer the question. When Fitz noticed that she wasn’t writing anything down, he dared to raise his eyes to hers.

Hunter must have noticed Jemma’s forfeit too, and after her stingers thrown tonight, he couldn’t help saying, “Remember that, Jem? Or is your brain only set to recall mathematical and scientific facts?”

Jemma crossed her arms and pursed her lips together, turning to address the table, “How could I forget? That was the night Fitz got me pregnant.”

The room stilled. Color drained from Fitz’s face as his heart thudded inside his chest. If Jemma knew how hard his heart beat, she didn’t show it. If Fitz understood the regret Jemma felt after she'd shared their private, not to mention emotional, history in public, he disregarded it. “Why don’t you just go public with that, Jemma?”

Still, the room was silent and with all eyes darting between her and Fitz, she couldn’t help laughing uncomfortably. “Oh, come on! It was ten years ago! It’s not like anyone can keep a secret around here—except for Daisy,” she turned to her friend in the corner. “Who pretends to run a flower shop while really running a garden meant for medicinal help for the sick and dying under the table. Forced to hide her heroic acts of reliving the pain of the sick and dying because you people are too damn sensitive of what happens in the private lives of your own community.”

Heads turned from Jemma to Daisy, who sat up straighter and flung her pencil on the table. “You know what, I think I’ve had enough for one night,” she announced, before standing and walking out without another word.

After the door swung back shut, Jemma turned back to Coulson. “Hey…sir…how about the next question?” She drummed her palms on the table. “What’ll it be?”

“Honey…” Coulson replied, beginning to stack up the trivia cards. “I think we all have had about enough.”

“You're right,” she pointed at him. “I have had enough. We've all had enough…I mean—how do you people live like this?”

“Alright, that’s it,” Fitz stood, physically protesting her words for the first time that night. He approached her, reaching for her elbow and standing her up when he was close enough. “That’s it. Let’s go,” he directed her without room for her to protest and guided her out to the parking lot.

“Okay. Okay!” Once outside, Jemma yanked away from Fitz and started to her car.

He followed her, walking with vigor. “What makes you think you can beat people's brains out with that genius head of yours?”

Jemma couldn’t help noting that even in his condemnation, he complimented her. “You asked for it!”

“I asked for it?” Fitz sped up ahead and turned back to face her. “You show up here, you steal my money, you rearrange my house, you insult my friends acting like you’re better than them—better than me?”

“Did you check the scoreboard? I’m pretty sure I would have won if we finished the last round. Maybe if you spoke up more often your team wouldn’t have been so far behind. You always were so shy, Fitz.”

“That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?” Fitz threw back at her. “Settling the score? Being the best?”

“At least it takes me places! You’d be the best too if you actually did something with your life. So what if things didn’t turn out the way you wanted? Get a new dream!”

Fitz stepped back at her personal attack. When he stopped moving, so did she. Jemma waited a moment for his retort, hoping it would even out her own, but none came. Instead, she stepped back too, shrinking before him.

“I'd better go,” she whispered.

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Not knowing how to handle her unease, Jemma raised a hand to her hair and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. She felt his eyes on her as she did so, making her wonder how he could still look at her like that after how she'd behaved.

After all the words she tried to say died on her tongue, she resorted to a silent nod goodnight. Fitz managed to do the same, wondering if tonight would be the last time he ever saw her—especially given the decision he’d come to during this evening’s fallout.

Jemma awoke to Fitz’s signature on the divorce papers the next morning.

* * *

Crisp morning air refreshed Jemma when she stepped from her car onto Fitz’s property that morning. It nipped at her skin and she tugged tighter at the light sweater she wore. The porch light guided her to its steps, and she welcomed the simplicity of it; happy to wait for him to wake as she watched the sunrise across the way.

Henry found her first. His nails scratched the porch as he ran around it, announcing his presence in the morning’s peace. She turned his way, her heart melting at his rugged appearance—even he had bed hair. The monkey took his place next to Jemma on the porch like it was the most natural thing in the world to do, like they’d been watching the sunrise together every morning for the last ten years.

“Hey, Henry,” she whispered, careful not to disturb the sacredness of the crisp morning air.

in the crisp air, careful not to disturb its sacredness. “You are quite the bedhead. Come here, let me straighten you up.” The monkey leaned closer and let her comb through and flatten his hair. “How was he last night, huh? Not too mad, I hope?”

As if on cue, the screen door swung open, revealing Fitz with one cup of tea in each hand. Also sensing the morning’s sacredness, he did his best to prevent the screen door from slamming with his foot.

He took his place on the other side of Jemma, resting his feet on the third step while offering her a white teacup. She took it gratefully, if not with a little surprise, happy to have something warm to wrap her hands around.

The two of them said so much in their silence. Perhaps much than their words could ever say. It had always been that way; neither knew why and neither ever spoke about it.

Fitz swallowed his first sip, his gaze focusing on the swirls in the tea water rather than on the woman beside him. “I thought you’d be gone.”

“Yeah, well,” Jemma sighed and gestured upwards. “I wanted to—”

“Watch the sunrise.”

She smiled when he finished her sentence. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so, and she’d forgotten how much she liked it when he did. “I put the money back in your account.”

“Thanks,” he said softly. “That saves me from bouncing a bunch of checks.”

Jemma nodded and took a sip of tea, letting the warm water replace the crisp air. The wind rustled leaves around them and she once again let the peacefulness fill their silence for a moment. “Look, Fitz—”

He turned to face her and their gazes collided for the first time that morning. “I know, Jemma.”

She knew he knew. Their psychic link still existed, she felt it, even though it must be held together by mere strands or single brain cells by now. Still, she confessed. “I never meant to hurt you…or anyone else for that matter.” Searching his gaze, she found the forgiveness and empathy she sought. “And besides the lovely sunrise, I came out her to say thank you…and I’m sorry.”

Fitz broke their gaze to take another sip of tea and then nodded in acceptance and understanding.

Jemma did the same with her tea, and then added to her confession, “You know, I love it when we bicker—but I hate when we fight, and I…my signals just get crossed sometimes.”

As per usual, her confessions sped his heart rate. His breath caught when he looked up to find the vulnerability on her face. So, he thought he’d match it with some of his own. “I’m, uh, I want to show you something. Henry and I are going somewhere…you wanna come?”

It was Jemma turn for her breath to catch. Her eyes widened as she soaked in his offer, his forgiveness. “Well, where are you going?”

“Dr. Simmons, it’s a surprise.” Despite the confidence tease, knots formed in his stomach.

And, despite her chuckle, she still said. “I can’t.”

His stomach flipped and his heart sunk. “Can’t or won’t?”

Shaking her head, she looked away from him and refocused on the sunrise. “Both,” she lied—either to herself or to him.

“The girl I knew used to be fearless.”

The accusation inched under her skin and she spun her head back sharply. “The girl you knew didn’t have a life.”

Clenching his teeth, he nodded in acceptance and placed his teacup on the porch. “Well, then, I guess you better get on with it then.” Fitz stood and whipped the porch’s morning mist off his jeans. “Come on, Henry!” He cocked his head at the monkey and Henry ran on all fours to the truck.

Without a single last glance, Fitz was gone.

* * *

Each year, on Labor Day, Hunter’s family held a BBQ. Jemma, Fitz, and their friends had gone every year since kindergarten. For the first five years, they spent the time chasing each other through the large property, for the next couple they brought their food on a variety of boats, and in the last two that Jemma attended, the gang snuck beer to a undisclosed location on the property and spent the entire time hoping they wouldn’t get caught.

This year, she practically showed up uninvited.

Sure, Hunter had reached out. Jemma had a hunch Bobbi asked him to. Their short conversation took place after she dropped her divorce papers off at the post office:

“Jemma,” he reached for her shoulder from behind. “Hey, Jem.”

She turned to him, her hair flipping around as she did so. “Hunter,” though regret resurfaced from her behavior at the bar, his goofy grin extended friendliness towards her. She brushed hair from her face. “Hey.”

“How you doin’?”

“Better, you know,” she shrugged. “Better than before.”

“Yeah?” He kept his attention on her, interested in her well-being. It took her by surprise. “Yeah…that’s good.”

“Hunter…Look—I’m sorry—”

He waved a hand between them. “Don’t worry about it. I mean thanks, but no worries. It’s been ages since Trivia Night had any drama.”

Jemma laughed. “I should hope not! I’d like to think I still hold the record for the all-around trivia muck up.”

Hunter cracked a smile and nodded along. “2004, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was,” she stood straighter. “Thank you very much.”

He sniggered. “Speaking of infamous Jemma Simmons’ muck ups, I was thinking it might be nice if you stopped by for the annual Labor Day BBQ.”

“Oh! Hunter…I don’t know—”

“Just think about it,” he extended an arm to her shoulder. “Okay?”

And so she thought about it, and so she appeared. The property was already crowded by the time she arrived. Multiple grills were in full swing. Children chased each other in, out, and around the old, southern mansion. Adults nursed beers and chatted with friends they had seen every single day for their entire lives.

Amongst the crowd, Jemma searched for Daisy’s long, black hair. After several minutes, she found it. It flew around Daisy as she turned to face Jemma.

“I’m sorry.”

Daisy offered a soft smile. “Yeah, I know.”

“I didn’t mean to out your secret business.”

“Hey,” she shrugged. “It was bound to come out eventually. Surprised it took this long.”

“You’re taking this awfully well.”

“Well, maybe it is about time I’ve applied for an official licence now that it’s legal to grow commercially, and…” Daisy raised her bottle. “The beer is helping.”

Jemma laughed with her friend. “Well, good. I just might have one then.”

As Jemma reached for a beer bottle from a cooler, Daisy leaned closer to her. “You know, he went up there.”

“To New York? Who?” Jemma’s forehead creased in confusion and then smoothed. “Fitz?” She gaped at her. “When?”

Daisy shrugged. “I don’t know. A couple years after you left. He didn’t tell anyone, but he let it slip to me once.”

For once, words failed Jemma. She nursed her beer, nothing came. She ran her hand through her hair—still nothing.

So, Daisy continued. “He told me he’d never seen anything like it…he realized he needed more than an apology to win you back…he needed to conquer the world first…he’s been trying ever since.”

Jemma could say nothing except repeat, “Fitz was in New York?” After a minute, she added, “That’s why he kept sending the papers back.”

“Yeah…” Daisy whispered. “It’s funny how things don’t work out.”

“It’s funny how they do.”

* * *

 

“Does Hunter know you’re out on his dock,” Jemma whipped her head around at Fitz’s voice. “Contemplating stealing his boat again?”

She stared at him for a moment, frozen in shock, before breaking into a smile. “Just borrowing it.”

“Uh-huh,” He felt her eyes follow him as he walked towards her, sat next to her, and let his heals tap against the side of the dock in time with her own. “Is that really what you were thinking about?”

Still focused on him, she couldn’t wondering why he would ask that question…and why she was glad that he did. They never spoke about the psychically-linked connection. Even so, her response couldn’t address it more clearly. “What do you think?”

Fitz raised his gaze from their feet to her eyes, searching them, desperate to find any words powerful enough to say more than the silence could. He found none.

In the silence, they both knew the other was flooded with memories of the last time the were here; of the last time they’d stolen his boat together, of the twinkling stars and the shiny engagement ring, of the kisses and happiness and the brief fear and danger that followed as they figured out how to hide and escape from the crashed boat.

“I don’t regret anything from that night Fitz, not one second.”

He dropped his head. “Jemma—”

“We were young and it was such an old boat…and, I don’t know, you gotta live a little…right?”

Something on the other side of the lake caught his attention. He squinted as the tiny yellow lights flickered in and out of each other. “Hey,” he leaned into her shoulder. “Look.”

“Hmm?” Transfixed by his face, it took a moment for her to figure out what he was talking about and to follow his finger. When she did, a huge grin erupted on her face. “Lightning bugs,” she returned the pressure on his own shoulder. “Only you.”

Fitz turned further into Jemma, the curves of his smile brushing across her face. Knowing the moment wouldn’t last, he took the time he had to immerse himself in it; her smooth skin, her flowery smell, her long eyelashes.

Somehow, he knew when she would turn back and pulled away right before she did, making sure to avoid the taboo subject of their closeness. “I still go out to the beach sometimes…watch those big thunder clouds rolling in…It’s like a religion.”

“I had a dream about it the other night…” Another confession rolled off her tongue before she could help herself.

Each heartbeat thudded in his chest and echoed in his ears. He hated the effect, the power she still had over—not just his mind, but his body—he hated it, and loved it at the same time.

Whether it was thanks to their mind connection or just consistent with tonight’s theme of sharing confidences, Fitz knew now was the moment to ask the question he’d been wondering for the last ten years. “Do you ever think about what would have happened if we hadn’t gotten pregnant?”

Jemma sucked in a breath. “Fitz…”

“No, no,” he reassured her with a soft pat on her leg. “Just let me get this out while I can.” He looked down, swallowed, and then back up again. “I thought that baby would be an adventure…and it took me a while to figure out it would have been your only adventure.”

Already on the edge of tears at his words, they flowed over at her own. “I felt so ashamed…because I felt relieved…and all of sudden, I needed a different life…”

He found her hand that rested on her other leg and took hold of it. “And you did really well for yourself. I’m proud of you, Jem.”

Slowly, Jemma gaze moved from their joint hands, up towards his face, before finally settling on the intensity of his ocean blue eyes. A sudden urge came over her to kiss him, to love him, to stay with him, here, forever…

“Fitz,” she stood from the dock, slid her sandals back on, and started to walk away—all the while managing to keep their fingers interlocked. “I can’t do this.”

“Hey.” He tugged at their hands softly, turning her back to him. His eyes kept their intensity. “I know.”

Their gazes collided once more and Jemma lost her internal battle. Fitz watched her step closer to him, felt her breath mingle with his as their noses brushed against each other, and soon, he felt brief touch of her lips on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my take on a Fitzsimmons Version of Sweet Home Alabama! I would love to hear what you thought in the comments! Many Thanks to AmandaRex for her thoughtful edits and amazing beta-ing skills.


	4. Two Different People

The taste of Jemma lingered on Fitz's lips. He would do anything to keep it there forever. In attempting to do so, he didn’t move—not daring to open his eyes or move his nose from its resting place in the curve of her own. Instead, he nuzzled in further, relishing in how their soft skins brushed against another. Each tiny touch intoxicated him, each sense was on fire as he drank her in, from her smooth skin to her natural scent to her short, deep breaths in time with his to the brush of her eyelashes against his cheeks, signaling she was caught up in the moment just as he was.

She then reached up to pull him closer. Her fingers brushed through the closely clipped hairs at the the nape of his neck while he squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation and leaned further into her. When her lips captured his for a second time, he parted his lips for her, giving her a chance to deepen the kiss. She did. Releasing their intertwined fingers, Jemma raised a second hand to cradle his face, bringing them even closer and entered his mouth again with even more fervor, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure from Fitz.

His hands, meanwhile, encircled her back, pulling her closer. Their lips parted just enough to find them again, letting them sink further into each other’s touch. As soon as Fitz felt himself losing himself in Jemma, his fingertips snuck up her back and curved around her shoulders. His lips extended to hers once more, desperate to taste her one last time, before he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back.

The expression on her face was unreadable to him, but he knew all she felt…and more. The mere seconds she couldn’t look at him felt much longer than the equal amount of time that she did. She searched him for a hint of his own feelings, for the reciprocity of the passion he’d given in his kiss, for direction.

While his eyes burned with all she searched for, his words spoke the opposite. “Go home,” he directed.

And then he could see it. The anger in her face that was there all along. The anger and the pain and the regret…and the love, all her emotions he could see, feel, in the moment after he spoke.

She stood for a moment before him, giving him a chance to say or do something—or perhaps, just to stare at him until she could find something to say or do herself.

When none came, Jemma pivoted from him, walking away and leaving him speechless on the dock.

* * *

 The slam of the car trunk disrupted Bobbi’s speech protesting Jemma’s sudden decision to catch the first flight back to New York the next morning. Jemma adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder and started walking to the front seat.

Bobbi walked backwards in front of her as she did so. “I’m just saying is all. I saw the way you two were looking at each other last night. Fitz and those blue eyes, you know, they never could hide how he felt—”

“Bobbi,” Jemma swung open the car door and tossed her purse inside. “I can’t help the way Fitz feels about me. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Bobbi grabbed the door and rested against it. “He hasn’t done anything right, either.”

From the moment Jemma woke up that morning, she hadn’t stopped moving. Between packing and booking flights, she had managed to avoid thinking about anything. Bobbi's comment gave her pause as she considered something she never had before. With a shake of her head, however, she returned to the myriad of thoughts that kept her moving. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I’m leaving. I’m gone.” She winced, leaving the thought wrinkles on her face. “I’m marrying another man!”

“And I’m happy for you, Jemma, really I am.” Bobbi leaned forward when Jemma took a step closer to the car. “I just want you to have a real chance at a fresh start this time. Make things right with Fitz before you go so you’re not holding onto anything.”

Jemma sighed, “Bobbi, there’s nothing to make right. We've said everything we need to say to each other.”

Their eyes met. Bobbi challenged her, “Did you though?”

For the second time, Bobbi’s remarks gave her pause. Jemma tapped a finger on the top of the car door, two taps, then three, before nodding to Bobbi. “I have to go say goodbye to my parents.” She excused herself, ducking into the car and driving off to the civil war reenactment across town where her mother was watching her father perform.

* * *

Hunter’s property returned to its pristine state by midmorning the next day. His friends stayed over to help clean up after the celebrations, and currently, they all gathered together on the house’s grand steps, enjoying the Monday off work.

Hunter’s legs rested across Bobbi’s as she sat on the other end of the same step. Daisy leaned back on her elbows to admire the view, and Mack took the top step, letting his long legs tower over them, settling his feet on the bottom step.

Fitz, meanwhile, leaned against the steps’ iron railing, pretending to follow the conversation, but really still reliving his moment with Jemma the night before. His gaze quietly drifted towards the dock, but instinct diverted it when an unfamiliar car rolled up the long driveway.

Everyone’s eyes followed Fitz’s and their friendly chatter seized as they watched the stranger exit the car.

Milton rounded the car and approached the populated steps. Taking his sunglasses off, he nodded to the group in greeting.

“Is this the Smooter place?”

Hunter and Fitz exchanged quick, silent glances. Lance Hunter-Smooter never used his name except on legal papers, and the stranger’s addressing the property as such confirmed his out-of-towner status.

“Yes.” Hunter scanned the stranger from top to bottom. “My family are the Smooter’s. How can I help you?”

“Ah. Family!” Milton wrongly assumed. “Great. I’m here hoping to surprise Jemma.”

“Jemma?” Fitz sat straighter and tucked his chin, comprehension dawning on his face. Suddenly, at the realization of the man’s significance to Jemma, the sight of the man made him sick to his stomach.

As Fitz’s stomach flipped, Daisy narrowed her eyes at Milton. “Got the wrong house, don’t you?”

“Really?” Milton reached in his shirt pocket, searching for the paper with Jemma Smooter’s apparent address on it. “This isn’t where her part of the family lives? Jemma Smooter—”

“Simmons,” Fitz said at the same time.

“Ah,” Milton expressed as if they had just solved a tough mystery. “That explains it.”

Fitz’s eyes widened. “Sure does…” his reply trailed off, focusing instead on tapping into his connection with Jemma. In seconds, he pieced together how she’d used Hunter’s disregarded last name to recreate her identity in New York to make it easier for herself—rather than anybody else—to start anew.

He hadn’t realized Jemma felt the need to create a completely new identity in order to move on from her life here…from him.

“Ah, sorry,” Milton reached out his hand to Fitz. “I’m Milton Hennings. Jemma’s fiancee. ”

Milton’s hand felt cold. Much like Jemma’s. Fitz had always liked Jemma’s cold hands, they often felt nice in the warm, southern heat. Milton’s chill had the opposite effect, “Leo. Fitz.”

“Nice meeting you, Leo.” Milton turned to Hunter as quickly as Fitz’s release. “Do you happen to know where Jemma is?”

“Uh…” Hunter silently begged Fitz for direction. While Hunter knew Jemma was up to something, he didn’t know what to say, or what not to say without ruining it.

Bobbi saved her husband, rather than Fitz. “I think she said something about meeting her parents up at the battlefield.”

“The battlefield?” Milton repeated, intrigued.

Fitz’s attention momentarily darted at Bobbi, not realizing she knew Jemma's whereabouts. Much like a compass finding its true north after spinning around in circles for hours, Fitz pulled himself up by the handrails. “Yeah,” he said, dusting himself off and continued, “Come on, I’ll give you a ride up there.”

“Really?” Milton’s mouth hung open just a little too much to hide his own surprise at Fitz’s generosity. “That’s great. Thank you.” He then traded handshakes with each one of Jemma’s supposed family members, each of them temporarily sustaining judgements of him while they admired his good looks.

While Milton continued to make the wrong assumptions, Fitz made his way to his own truck, turning back to raise his eyebrows at the protesting crowd left behind, who leaned forward on the steps, silently begging for his promise to fill them in on details later.

Once the truck gathered speed, Milton wasted no time disrupting the peaceful silence. “So who’s Jemma…Simmons?”

Fitz smirked, rested his elbow on the car window sill, and turned the steering wheel with one hand. “Local hero around here.”

“Ah,” Milton nodded like he understood and then leaned in. “And why’s that?”

Fitz leaned into his palm and answered nonchalantly, “She blew up the school’s auditorium.”

The New Yorker scoffed, “And that made her a hero?”

“Well, notorious anyway. She was twelve. She heard a ninth grader in the school’s science fair was planning to use his project to demolish the entire school property, not to mention the hard work of the other science fair participants…” Fitz paused for a moment to remember Jemma’s outrage that his own project would be ruined, “And little Jem, she couldn’t have that…So she risked her own life to make sure Ward couldn’t follow through on his plan.”

“That’s quite a story,” Milton observed.

“She was quite a girl,” Fitz replied, his realization that Milton didn’t know Jemma at all growing stronger and stronger with each word. He tried to understand why she would marry someone who knew so little about her. He did everything he could to understand Jemma, rather than to judge Milton, but all their psychically-linked connection did was repeat her words from last night: _All of a sudden, I needed a different life._ The fact that she really did start her life over in a strange city would never seize to amaze him.

“So…So, whatever happened to her?” Milton sat up straighter, “This Jemma Simmons?”

Fitz’s smirk disappeared in memories. “Oh, you know, wound up pregnant…married some loser right after high school.”

* * *

Bugles rang in the end of the civil war reenactment. Jemma clapped for her dad, smirking at the rest of the show, not believing she was actually debating whether or not these war reenactments were one of the things she missed about the South.

After watching her dad dismount his horse, she turned silently around, figuring she’d meet him and her mom at his truck—and that’s when Jemma saw him…both of them, actually.

If she was honest, she’d realize Fitz’s striking blue eyes caught her attention first, provoking the butterflies she tried so hard to ignore whenever their kiss last night intruded into her thoughts . She barely registered Milton’s presence until his lips captured hers…and even then Fitz’s blue eyes still filled her head.

When Milton released her, she found Fitz’s eyes again, this time across from her, making her realize she had memorized them perfectly.

“What are you doing here?” She said into them.

Fitz noticed her intense stare and tried to fight the power it had to bring back memories of the intensity of last night. “I came to deliver your fiancee,” he managed to say. Who was he kidding, though? He couldn’t stop thinking about her…In between the memories of their kiss, he found himself wondering how on earth she could be engaged to someone who didn’t know her at all.

Of course, Milton gave him a smart-ass smirk when he turned to him and commented, “I think she was talking to me.”

“Fitz…” She softly pleaded with him for understanding.

He quietly shook his head, “Must be exhausting.”

“What?” Milton spoke for himself and for Jemma.

“Living a lie,” Fitz announced audaciously.

She sucked in a breath at his audacity. So...he had figured her secret out. How much he knew of her secret life beforehand she wasn’t sure (although she was sure he knew some)…it didn’t matter now…all of her secret was out now and an odd sense of shame flooded over her.

Milton whipped his head around, narrowing his eyes and searching her own. “What’s he talking about?”

Jemma parted her lips to answer. When no words came, Fitz caught Milton’s attention. “You and I are in love with two different people.”

In. Love. With.

The words took over her being…so much so that she almost missed the next moments that unfolded in front of her: Fitz kept his sincerity as he finished speaking to Milton and then nodded at her, letting his eyes speak the volumes he could not before walking away.

Milton gaped at Fitz and had the same reaction when he returned his attention back to Jemma. “He’s not related to you, is he?”

“No…” Jemma dropped her head and adjust her sleeve before looking back at him, stepping closer with seriousness. “He’s my husband.”

“What?” All the color drained from Milton’s face.

“I mean my ex-husband.”

Milton crossed his arms. “Oh, my, god…Jemma!”

“No-no,” she desperately reached for him. “I came down here to finalize my divorce—”

Just then, her parents squirmed up the hill, giddy with excitement, realizing they were about to meet the new man in their daughter’s life.

“Hi there,” her parents somehow said in unison. “You must be Jemma’s new special someone.”

“She’s Pearl—” her dad told Milton.

“And he’s Earl.” Pearl finished Earl’s introduction.

“And we’re the Simmons’s.”

* * *

The Simmons’s home kept silent as the three family members and Milton entered it. Earl and Pearl could feel the tension between Jemma and Milton, but true to southern hospitality, they said nothing about it. After welcoming Milton into their home with a tour and some chicken fried steak, Jemma’s parents left the engaged couple alone to hopefully ease the tension between them.

As she watched him eat, Jemma could tell Milton was halfway out the door. Metaphorically, sure—he'd cut his emotions off from her the second color started draining from his face, but physically too—as his right foot wouldn’t move from pointing in the direction of the door and his packed bags were still in the car.

The more they sat in silence together, the more Jemma came to realize how much she missed being in his presence. There was something simple about it. She could sit across from him and not have his thoughts or emotions instantly transferred to hers. The disconnect between them made it easier to recover…easier to move on.

“I want you to stay, Milton,” Jemma broke their silence as he finished his chicken fried steak. “I missed you. And I’m sorry. I should have trusted you with my secret.” Milton looked up from his plate. Their eyes met and she relaxed when she found softness around them. “And I-I want to tell you everything.”

“You don’t have to, Jemma.”

Jemma tilted her head at him across the table. Her voice broke a little when she said, “Yes, I do.”

So, she did. She told him everything; why she left Alabama, why she changed her name, how she changed her name on legal documents, why she didn’t feel the need to tell him about her shameful past even after they started dating. While she explained her story, she did her best to avoid Fitz’s name, although his name was the answer to most of the questions.

If Milton realized that, he buried the fact that Jemma’s ex-husband seemed to have the most influence over her life’s choices—even now. What he choose to hear was the story of a woman who wanted to start over…a woman who had nothing but her brilliant mind and carved a path for herself in one of New York’s top hospitals. As she talked, Milton found the voice and the heart of the woman he came to know, the woman he fell in love with.

“—And I-I loved being Dr. Jemma Smooter, you know? She became who I was and I-I never wanted to change my life in New York—with you—because it was happy, and simple, and perfect, and—”

“Marry me,” Milton cut her off. His voice was deep, full of earnestness and longing. Jemma stayed frozen, gaping at him, while her stomach tightened into knots. “Marry me here, in your home town, amongst your family and friends, and then we can go back to New York—together.”

She blinked and raised her palm to rest her cheek upon. A smile slowly broke over her face as she realized how enchanting he was. He made complicated things simple, and she loved him for it. “Okay.”

* * *

Wedding preparations took over the town. Truck after truck drove the streets, towering over all of the local businesses, redirecting the attention of local shoppers from store windows to reading the logos on each new vehicle that passed.

Leo Fitz did his best to ignore the frenzy. After he spotted the first wedding truck and it somehow managed to metaphorically run him over; he avoided going into town, managing to find his necessities elsewhere. His phone would ring and he felt Jemma on the line without looking at the caller ID. She kept calling, and each ring would tug at his heart strings until…until he caved and turned off his cell phone all together.

Yes, Fitz became a master at avoiding the unavoidable. That is, he could hide from it as long as it didn’t find him.

Which, of course, it did. Or rather, she did.

“Oh, my, god,” Jemma’s exclamation, though not very loud, made it up to the attic of a barn which served as an office for Fitz’s successful and classy glassware business. He couldn’t help peering around the staircase to watch her admire his work. Her fingers softly ran over rims of bowls and a smile threatened to break her awed expression when she noticed a duplicate of the glass figure they’d dug up as children after their very first kiss…

She froze at the figure, taking in its significance and the memories of it, giving herself a moment to emotionally process the dots her mind pieced together in seconds. Fitz, meanwhile, didn’t know why, but she still mesmerized him. Her beauty stood out amongst the finest glassware. For a moment, it distracted him from the heart-pounding realization that she had discovered the secret to his success.

Henry’s excited scurrying down the stairs broke the moment for both of them. He brushed past Fitz’s leg and took the stairs two at a time until he reached Jemma and could tug at her skirt in greeting.

She bent down to the monkey with enthusiasm. “Hi Henry!”

“Do we know,” Her New York friend, who Fitz didn’t know, addressed Jemma. “Henry?”

“He-uh-he,” she stumbled over her words, giving Henry a pat while frantically searching for his owner. Jemma could feel Fitz’s eyes on her before she found him at the top of the stairs. He didn’t look panicked—as Jemma knew part of him must be at her discovery of his huge accomplishment—he looked rather…wonderful. His blue plaid shirt brought out his eyes and stubble highlighted the contours of his face, making his warm smile even more appealing. Without knowing it, she took a step closer to him. Returning his warmth, she greeted him simply with a, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Fitz said back, his smile widening a little.

They approached each other, letting the rest of the world blur away. Neither could help it and both were aware of it, but the bubble that formed around the two of them had a force more powerful than both of them put together. Somehow, it was like the cosmos pushing them together, creating a special world where only the two of them could exist.

Not only did Fitz look good, but he smelled good too. His aftershave brought back memories of their kiss on the dock—a kiss she had tried so hard to convince herself didn’t happen.

But it did.

It completely did.

It took everything Jemma had in her not to recreate that moment here, now. “I tried to call you a couple times,” she offered.

Fitz kept his warmth, but did nothing to acknowledge her phone calls. Instead, he stepped closer and the intensity of his stare increased, amazed at how good it felt for Jemma to be among his life’s work. “Listen, while you’re here, you and your friend should look around, have some lunch—sit out on the deck, it’s nice…”

“Fitz…”

The tiny shake of his head went by so fast, she almost missed it. Half of her wished she had, so they could have stayed in their bubble a couple moments longer. Her heart dropped as he motioned to Henry rather than to her.

“Come on Henry, let’s leave this lady alone,” Fitz reached a hand out to the monkey and Henry immediately climbed onto his shoulders.

Only when Fitz turned to walk away did Jemma realize she loved two different people. And she loved them in two very different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my take on a Fitzsimmons Version of Sweet Home Alabama! I would love to hear what you thought in the comments! Many Thanks to AmandaRex for her thoughtful edits and amazing beta-ing skills.


	5. Home Sweet Home

“Are you sure you’re in love with him, Jemma?” Bobbi’s astute question barely registered to Jemma as she assessed herself in her wedding gown in the mirror. Bobbi let the question hang between them, walking around her friend to make final adjustments to the gown.

“Hmm…” came off Jemma’s lips.

Though the sounds were not similar, Bobbi could have sworn Jemma said ‘who’ and not ‘hmm.’ She paused when she did, stood straighter and met her friend’s eyes in the mirror.

Jemma’s eyes spoke more than her words ever could. If Bobbi would have pointed that out aloud, she knew Jemma could easily excuse the overwhelming emotions in them as wedding day jitters, so Bobbi didn’t ask. Instead, she gave Jemma a warm, empathic smile and returned to adjusting her dress, deciding it was best to speak about her own experience with love rather than Jemma’s. “You know, when I married Hunter—Oh, Lord, was I a fool for that man—I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. I remember standing there, thinking, ‘Oh, preacher, hurry up before he changes his mind…Sometimes that man makes me so mad I could wring his neck.”

For the first time that day, Jemma was able to get outside her own head. She examined Bobbi closely. “But you still love him?”

Bobbi smiled, both at Jemma’s question and at her finished appearance, before turning to reach for the veil. “Lord knows I do…And only He knows why,” she said more to herself than to her friend. She walked back slowly with the veil, easily towering over Jemma with as she placed it on her friend’s head. “I’m just glad you made things right with Fitz,” she clipped the veil in place. “So you can really start over this time. Milton seems like a good man.”

Too focused on securing the veil, Bobbi missed Jemma’s regretful expression. She hadn’t made things right with Fitz, not really. Bobbi’s assumption made her tinge of regret sting sharper. The wrinkles were still on her forehead, though, when she turned back to her. “Bobbi, I—”

Bobbi stepped back to look her over. “Jemma! Look at you! Someone hit you with the pretty stick!”

A warm smile crossed her face and she looked back in the mirror. The women’s eyes met again in the glass. “Yeah,” she tilted her head with a playful expression. “I think that someone would be you.”

“No,” Bobbi said seriously. “I mean like…fairies or angels or somethin’.”

Having no desire to debate the subject, Jemma simply replied with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Bobbi nodded, emphasizing her sincerity. “Now, are you ready to get married?”

“Hmm…” slipped from Jemma’s mouth again—this time with a smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

* * *

When Daisy rolled up Fitz’s driveway in her truck, she found exactly what she expected; Fitz preparing for the night’s thunderstorm with Henry at his side. Torn between pride in knowing her friend so well and disappointment in his current impassive decision, she realized she would have to switch to Plan B. How she felt about that fact was clear in her door slam as she exited the car.

Fitz turned from his work at the noise, locked eyes with Daisy’s for a mere second, and then returned to throwing his lightning rods in the back of his own truck. Henry scurried from the truck to the rod pile, struggling to carry only one rod at a time.

Daisy watched Henry for a moment and then approached the truck, crossed her arms, and moved her weight to one hip, waiting for Fitz to speak. He did one last trip with the last of the lightning rods before stopping and facing her.

“They say a big storm’s coming in,” he offered.

“Oh, uh-huh, really,” she nodded along, although unamused. “And were they predicting the weather or the ending to the wedding that’s going on today?”

Fitz violently through the last lightning rod into the truck. The rattling sound from the impact echoed between them. The loud noise frightened Henry enough that he leaped into the truck’s front seat and covered his ears with his hands. Fitz, meanwhile, waited patiently until the vibration ended to speak. “She made her decision, Daisy.”

“Hmm,” Daisy resumed her fake nod again, stepping closer. “For someone that’s been holding to something for so long, you sure are fast to let it go.”

If one was examining Fitz closely, which Daisy was, they could barely catch his wince at her words. The shake of his head was just as microscopic when he turned to close the tailgate to the back of his truck. Henry screeched in protest.

“Why won’t you fight for her?” Daisy pleaded with him. “Tell her want you want.”

Still gripping the top of the tail-gate, Fitz leaned on it while turning to Daisy. “I can’t do that.”

Daisy bulged her eyes and leaned forward from her torso, making her disbelief clear. “You can’t do that?” She repeated his words, now in question form, and crossed her arms tighter. “Fitz! Man, I wanna smack you over the head sometimes! Must you always be so chivalrous?”

Fitz stood his ground strongly. “There’s nothing I could tell her that she doesn’t already know.”

“Right…” She replied with sarcasm. “How could I forget the special psychically-linked connection between the two of you?

“No!” Fitz fought back. “That’s not what I—That’s not how it—” In his scramble to explain himself, he lost his angered edge and sighed. “Daisy…” He had clearly given up, exhaustion suddenly masking his face. “I can’t control her—” A thunder cloud boomed above them. They both looked up at it before returning their attention back to each other. “Any more than I can control the weather.”

He made his statement into a declaration by nodding at her once and marching off to the driver’s seat of his truck.

Daisy threw her hands up in frustration as Fitz and Henry dove off, leaving her behind in the dust.

* * *

Dust clouds riled up as another stranger’s car made its way onto the Hunter-Smooter property. This time, however, there was no one out in the front of the house to greet it. Rather than slow down, the car sped up, driving ahead onto the property grounds until it could be seen from the wedding ceremony taking place in its backyard.

The commotion instantly disturbed the back few rows of wedding seating, causing many heads to turn its way. All the guests—including the wedding party—weren’t rattled until a frantic man ran out of the car and started yelling.

“Miss Smooter! Miss Smooter!”

Currently in the midst of walking down the aisle, Jemma turned at the calling of her fake New York identity. Her dad stopped leading her and turned too, their heads turning in sync.

Once they saw the little man running up to greet them, he was instantly restrained by Milton’s tall ushers.

“No, it’s ok!” Jemma waved them off. “I know him. He’s my lawyer.” She then broke from her dad and took a few steps away from the altar to approach the man and whispered to avoid any further embarrassment. “Mr. Beaufort. He sighed the divorce papers. What are you doing here?”

Suddenly aware of the huge event and that all eyes were on him, he matched Jemma’s whisper. “He did,” Mr. Beaufort looked up at her. “You didn’t.”

Jemma retreated, surprised. “What?”

While she examined the papers the lawyer offered to her, Milton came down the aisle suspiciously. He stopped when could read the legal document with only one signature rather than two.

“You mean,” Jemma addressed Mr. Beaufort, giving no attention to Milton. “I’m still married?”

“Well,” the lawyer finally offered her a warm, supportive smile. “Only if you want to be.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Milton burst out. “Jemma, I thought you took care of this.”

She acknowledged him then. For the first time, or perhaps it was there all along, she saw the judgement and condescension on his face. He lost all his attractiveness to her in that moment. “It’s a honest mistake, Milton.”

He kept his disdained expression. “Well, then, can we fix it before we all get soaked?”

“Ye-yeah—”Jemma flinched and looked out into the crowd. “Does somebody have a pen?” She cried, wondering if her knees would cave from humiliation.

The crowd of friends and family rummaged through their coat pockets and purses. Frantic, Jemma shook her trembling hand out and refused to look at Milton.

A single pen was lifted above the crowd. They all froze as Bobbi lowered her hand, closed her purse, and made her way down the aisle from the alter.

The two women shared a meaningful look as the pen was transferred from one hand to the other. Bobbi held onto the pen until she said, “We are fools in love, Jemma. Never forget that.”

Jemma froze at the words. She almost dropped the pen, connecting Bobbi’s words to the ones she said earlier. But then, Jemma shook her head, gripped the pen tighter, and found the spot for her signature.

“I’m still married?”

“Only if you want to be.”

While she hovered over the document, Fitz’s signature popped out at her. His handwriting hadn’t changed from when they were kids.

“You and I are in love with two different people.”

The pen shook in her hand. She suddenly realized how different the two states were: loving someone and being in love with them. There was a timelessness to being in love, a singularly to it, that once reached, one had to hope of going back.

“Milton?”

She looked up to found the judgement on his face had left. It helped her next words come out smoothly. “You don’t want to marry me.”

He raised his eyebrows quietly, as if asking a question he already knew the answer to, his voice, too, somehow found the softness Jemma knew he had in him. “I don’t?”

“No, no, you don’t,” her voice was also soft when she spoke. “You see, I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart,” then she cracked with emotion, “And I never really got it back.” For a moment, he just watched her. For a moment, he realized it too: the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. “I-I really don’t know what else to say, but, I’m sorry…I can’t marry you and you shouldn’t want to marry me.”

“Wow,” Milton started softly. “So, this is what that feels like…” The crowd stayed silent, their gazes switching between Jemma and Milton. Finally, Milton head dropped and he frowned quietly. “Ok, Jemma.” He reached for her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Ok.” He nodded at her once before making his way back down the aisle.

Milton disappeared inside right before the rain fell. Most of the crowd cried out at the rain, following Milton indoors.

As everyone dispersed, Jemma called out to them. “Hey y’all! If you're friends of the bride, stick around! I’m gonna find myself a groom!”

* * *

The downpour came down in sheets by the time Jemma had reached the beach in her car. Though soaking wet, her heart warmed at the mere sight of Fitz’s truck. She loved that she knew where to find him without anyone telling her. She loved that she seemed to have an internal compass directing her to him at all times. She loved that…his life's profession was making beautiful glass from the place so sacred to them.

Turning off the car’s engine, Jemma squinted to find Fitz’s figure on the beach dark and blurry through the sheets of rain. Once she did, her heart fluttered and she walked out into the rain, welcoming its balmy southern drops. Her tunnel vision focused on Fitz so much so that she almost walked passed the monkey sitting contently in the passenger’s seat of Fitz’s truck.

And, she loved Henry. She loved that Henry watched over Fitz always.

Jemma managed only to share a nod with Henry before running down to Fitz. She took off her shoes and pulled up her dress, doing anything she could to make it to the love of her life faster.

His back was turned to her when she did. With few feet between them, Jemma took a moment to admire the view. Not just of his backside and rear end, which she did appreciate, but the sight of him working in the rain; how he concentrated on making sure the lightning rods were in the perfect place, how the wet clothes clung to his skin as he did so, how sexy he was and didn’t even know it.

“Hey Genius,” she announced herself. “I’m here to make a grand gesture.”

“Oh yeah?” Fitz responded without turning around. “You are?”

Jemma nodded, wishing Fitz could see the determination on her face. “Yeah.”

He turned around then and scanned over her wedding dress. “Where’s your husband?”

Her expression didn’t change when she declared, “I’m looking at him.”

Fitz blinked the declaration in, giving no thought to the water droplets cascading down her face. He dropped his tools, hanging on her every word.

“Apparently you and I are still hitched.”

He added a slight head turn to his blinks, making his interest known. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” She reassured him with a nod. She then realized the question that had been bugging her for a week but she couldn’t ask—until now. “Why didn’t you tell me you came to New York?”

Fitz scoffed and turned away, saying, “I needed to make something of myself!” over the rain and walked past her to the next rod he had to check on.

Jemma followed him, insisting, “You about done?”

“What is with you southern girls?” He turned around to challenge her back with the same intensity. “You can’t make the right decision until you’ve tried all the wrong ones?”

She didn’t have time to consider his words, she merely retorted with, “At least I fight for what I want!”

Daisy’s words to him from a few hours ago played back in his head. Though they should have needed to yell over the pouring rain, she still heard his whisper. “You know what I want, Jemma. You’ve always known.” Fitz momentarily froze, both at his confession and at her reaction to it: adding a little smirk to her face as she walked closer to him. “The question is—and has always been—what do you want, Jemma…Because, sometimes, I’m not even sure you know.”

Jemma swallowed, understanding more of their psychic-connection: even their deepest insecurities, the ones they couldn’t even name themselves, were obvious to the other. She hoped he knew how sure she was now. “You’re the first boy I ever kissed, Fitz, and I want you to be the last.”

His eyes narrowed and he scanned over her again. Jemma could see the question in his eyes…almost as if he was fighting himself to believe her; fighting their psychic-connection to avoid having his heart broken again. He stepped back towards another rod. “Maybe you and I had our chance.”

“Fine!” She yelled at him. She yelled...because she knew he knew she was sure, because he knew that and still didn’t kiss her, because how dare he try to break their psychic-connection; because he didn’t fight for her; because she knew the reason he didn’t had to do with how much he loved her—how much he put her first; because he came to New York without telling her; because he made a something for himself without her; because she loved yelling at him; because she loved him; because he continued to be a stubborn ass and she loved him for it. “Have it your way, you stubborn ass!”

“Oh-ho!” Fitz paused mid-step and turned back to her, needing to kiss her but resisting it until he found the perfect thing to say. He repeated the question she'd asked him so long ago, some small part of him still unsure of her answer. “What do you want to be married to me for anyhow?”

Jemma broke into a wide smile then, parting her lips enough to taste the raindrops. She stepped two steps closer and closed the distance between them. Her hands found their favorite place on his cheeks, brushing through his stubble. “So I can kiss you anytime I want,” she repeated the reply he'd once given her back to him, word for word.

He barely had time to break into a smile. Jemma’s lips captured his and he surrendered to the moment—not just matching her passion, but increasing it. His arms went around her back and he pulled her further into him. She pulled him closer in return, deepening the kiss.

Each time their lips met a different spark inside of them would ignite. Sparks were reignited that hadn’t been lit, or felt, or remembered. Rather than lighting the sky to guide each other actually home, this time the sparks found home within themselves. Their centers, their hearts, their minds, everything realigned in that kiss and started again, reborn on the beach in a lightning storm—never to fade again.

Too absorbed in each other, neither Fitz nor Jemma noticed Hunter pull up in his police car. Red and blue siren lights twirled in the rain storm.

Hunter smirked as he spotting their kiss on the beach. Still shaking his head, he waited ten more seconds before kicking the door open to yell at his childhood friends.

“What the hell are you two trying to do? Get yourself killed?”

Jemma broke away at the sound of his voice, leaving Fitz gobsmacked at their most recent kiss. “What seems to be the trouble officer?”

God, he loved her. He loved her wit and her passion; her comebacks and her anger; her drive and her confusion; her determination and her wildness. He leaned her forehead against hers and smiled as she and Hunter exchanged retorts.

“I’m here to bring you in, young lady!” Hunter yelled over the storm.

Half-amused, half-offended, Jemma called back, “What I do this time?”

“Well, the way I hear it,” Hunter’s amusement grew. “Seems she ran out on a perfectly good cake!”

* * *

The taste of delicious wedding cake accompanied Fitz’s kisses throughout the reception. Not that Jemma minded. The taste of chocolate cake made his kisses that much sweeter.

The cake was so rich, in fact, that she still tasted it in his mouth, making out in his parked truck after they arrived home.

Arrived. Home.

“Wa—wai—wait,” Fitz pulled Jemma back into his arms after she reached to open truck’s door. “Don’t move.”

Jemma returned to his arms, pressed her forehead against his, and whispered, “I had no idea you wanted to recreate our first time together…but that works too. Poetic. Romantic, if you think about it.”

“No!” Fitz retreated, almost offended. “No…You can’t move. You can’t get out of the truck by yourself! Jemma.” He took a deep breath and Jemma noticed the vulnerability in his ocean blue eyes. She waited for him to speak, a single wrinkle forming on her forehead. “I have to carry you over the threshold. We have to do it right this time.”

Jemma burst out laughing then. “Babes,” she called him for the first time in ten years. “You can’t carry me over the threshold! You couldn’t even carry me up the three little steps.”

“Oh,” he started as if spurred on, “Yes I can. Just you wait.”

He released her then. She missed his touch the second he did, feeling much colder without it. He ran around the truck in the rain (noticing for a split second that Henry had somehow made it out of the truck and onto the porch without him noticing) and opened the door for her. She, of course, tried to stand herself, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead, he pulled her legs over his arms and nudged her torso until she rested on her shoulder, looping her arms around his neck.

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma exclaimed. “This is totally unnecessary.”

Once he balanced her weight in his arms, he leaned in for a peck on the lips. “Well, you told me to fight for what I want. This,” he started to walk towards the porch. “My Jemma, is exactly what I want.”

Finally accepting his gesture, Jemma shifted in his arms to make herself more comfortable. “You want to carry me over the threshold?”

As he approached the porch, he had to twist his head to see the three porch steps. “And up the steps.”

“Whatever makes you happy, darlin’.”

His heart warmed when she repeated his words back to him for the second time that night. He waited to respond, however, until he had managed to make it up the stairs, across the five feet to the door, and through the door he swung open (at which point Henry scurried through, drenching their new couch with his wet fur coat), and finally carried his wife over the threshold.

Fitz let her down gently, watching to make sure she didn’t slip on her semi-wet wedding dress, all the while keeping a hand on her back, refusing to let her out of his arms.

Returning his forehead to hers, he breathlessly whispered his reply. “You make me happy, Mrs. Fitz-Simmons.”

She closed her eyes, soaking in the feel of his touch and her proper name wash over her. She interlaced their fingers and brought their joint hands between their two hearts. “You make me happy, Mr. Fitz-Simmons.”

“Hmm…” was the only response he could find. She leaned in for another kiss and settled her palms in her favorite spot on his face once more. He met her kiss, but pulled back after a few moments with her hands in his. “Jemma.”

“Yeah?”

“Your hands are freezing,” he whispered.

To which, she cracked a wide smile and giggled. “Are they?” She brought them to her own cheeks to test them. “Oh, they’re like little ice buckets, aren’t they?”

He reached for her hands and pulled them up so he could kiss them. His lips kissed the back of her hands, stroking them with his thumb when he finished.

Jemma watched him for a moment, tilting her head at him. “Do you think you can brave it?”

Fitz drunk her in; how beautiful she was, inside and out—her radiant smile, her sparkling eyes, her perfectly imperfect wedding dress, now dirty from running down the beach. He drank in their moment together; savoring how many times he wished he could have a second chance, but never allowing himself to hope he would get one, how precious this one, last, silent moment was to him—to both of him.

“I’ll do my best to power through,” he offered, receiving another giggle from Jemma. At her elation, he couldn't help pausing to say, “Welcome home, Jemma.”

It was Jemma’s turn to “hmm,” as she leaned in to kiss him, reaching to his shoulders and peeling his coat off off him. Fitz let it fall to the floor, immediately returning his arms to her lower back. Not able to wait any longer, he started walking her backwards to the bedroom. She let him guide her, hmm-ing again when his fingers crawled up her back and reached for her wedding dress zipper.

Molding herself into his arms, she whispered, “Home sweet home."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my take on a Fitzsimmons Version of Sweet Home Alabama! I would love to hear what you thought in the comments! Many Thanks to AmandaRex for her thoughtful edits and amazing beta-ing skills.


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